tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58778841729550119092014-10-07T00:12:43.219-04:00Mondays with MacWedding and portrait photographers in Ottawa Ontario. Blogs about motherhood, lesbianism, and photography. Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.comBlogger211125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-22121839862059390712014-07-21T08:39:00.002-04:002014-07-31T12:31:30.917-04:00A Review for Shoeme.ca. And pretty much the most baring my soul post I've ever written. Have you noticed it's been several weeks since I've posted a blog? There's a reason for that. I couldn't write another post until I wrote this post. And there's been a pretty huge disconnect between getting this post out of my heart and onto the screen. Because when I signed up to write this post I was feeling all brave and kick-ass. But being brave and kick-ass is sometimes fleeting. And one should learn not to sign-up for things in those moments. Or maybe one should. I guess it depends on your perspective.<br /><br />Anyway. What the heck am I talking about? I'm talking about these pretty awesome&nbsp;<a href="http://www.shoeme.ca/products/pace-glove-2-black">&nbsp;Merrell Women's Pace Glove 2s</a>&nbsp;shoes from <a href="http://shoeme.ca/">Shoeme.ca</a>. And my body. My post-baby, post-postpartum depression, post anti-depressant, body. And as I even write those words there's a tear in my eye. Because this is just such a raw thing for me to talk about with you - my friends, family, and the internet. But here we go.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yg06rUvv9G0/U8wd5Atv4mI/AAAAAAAAEF8/QB6nK5ZgPNo/s1600/7mwm-1-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yg06rUvv9G0/U8wd5Atv4mI/AAAAAAAAEF8/QB6nK5ZgPNo/s1600/7mwm-1-12.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />Before I got pregnant with our spectacular Mac I had a pretty "average" body. I put average in quotations because I get that there's really no such thing. But it felt average to me at the time. If you need numbers to be visual I was 5 foot 7 inches and weighed roughly 130 pounds. I went down as low as 120 during a low carb stint. And I went up as high as 140 when in a steady relationship that encouraged lots of dinners out and movie popcorn. But generally I weighed 130 pounds. Feeling feminist and woman-supporting to my core I tried my best to speak kindly about my body. And although I wasn't always successful at that I was more successful at speaking kindly about other women's bodies. I've always appreciated women's bodies in their various shapes. I always wanted to support the women in my life to love their bodies and appreciate them as they are. Always the perfect size in the moment. You could hear me say things like "if you want a bikini body, put a bikini on your body" and "riot don't diet." But, if I'm being honest, those things felt easier to say in a 130 pound frame.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cbzzNm03jpY/U80H0S-7yCI/AAAAAAAAEGk/3Y6fO0ZS7fI/s1600/154624_468165910891_3882669_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cbzzNm03jpY/U80H0S-7yCI/AAAAAAAAEGk/3Y6fO0ZS7fI/s1600/154624_468165910891_3882669_n.jpg" height="310" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Mac's other parents in 2010 before conception.</td></tr></tbody></table>Pregnant with Mac I gained about 40 pounds. The nurse at my doctor's office mentioned once that it was a little too much. And I felt strong enough to put her in her place. "This body is growing a person and I'm feeding it lots of healthy food and if that's how much weight it needs to fulfill this task then please don't try to make me feel bad about that." You might have read that last line as if it was said with a bunch of sass and confidence, maybe even a finger wag at that the end. In reality I probably stammered and whispered my way through it. But I definitely stood up for myself.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-igA3tCT6ZRI/U8sicn6wH8I/AAAAAAAAEFs/wSgkEBtURR4/s1600/2014-07-19_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-igA3tCT6ZRI/U8sicn6wH8I/AAAAAAAAEFs/wSgkEBtURR4/s1600/2014-07-19_0001.jpg" height="451" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the months after giving birth about half of that weight came off without any effort on sincere intention on my part. And then my world got rocked.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I woke up one day underwater. Postpartum depression hit me like a tonne of bricks. A tonne of bricks that I didn't see coming. Suddenly everything felt terrifying. Small decisions like what we should have for breakfast felt like they would have life-altering consequences. And they paralyzed me. Sometimes Tracy would come home and find me sitting on the floor in the dark holding Mac on my lap. Because I knew that if I just held him right there in the silence, with nothing sharp or suffocate-y around, then he would be safe. The responsibility of just keeping him alive felt immense. I sometimes imagined what it would be like if I had an injury. Nothing too big - just maybe a broken leg or something. That way someone else would have had to take care of him for a little while and I could sleep. I was sure they would have done a better job. I stopped sleeping and I started eating. A lot. Chocolate chip muffins gave me small moments of pleasure. So I kept eating them.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then I made the choice to go on anti-depression medication. I'm not sure how to write this part of my story. Because I don't know what would have happened if I didn't. And I certainly don't want to play any part in convincing someone who needs medication not to take it. It's possible this story would have a worse ending if I had decided to forgo the medicine. But it felt like with medication things went from bad to worse. I had an expectation that this medication would make me happy. It did not. If anything it just made me less sad. It was like I was a sour margarita. I expected that adding medication would be like adding sugar. Instead it was like removing the lime juice. Not sour. Not sweet. Just bla.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And because I didn't really understand how anti-depressants work I kept asking my doctor to increase my dosage. Until I was at the maximum dosage allowed. And they came in this giant pill bottle the size of my hand that signified <i>this girl is really depressed</i>. And I was.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As the dosage increased so did the side effects. Mainly an increase of sugar cravings and a slowed metabolism. I gained nearly 70 pounds in a relatively short amount of time. Not of baby weight. Of post baby weight. And in some swirling combination of new bodily realities and mental anguish I misplaced all that feminist, kick ass, body-positivity that seemed to come so easily before.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The more weight I gained the less I liked myself. And perhaps because of the physical weight or perhaps because of my new less-confidant self, the world seemed to like me less too. I don't say that to be pitiful or look for sympathy. But walking through the world as a size 18 as opposed to a size 8 was a very different experience. I was used to going to stores and trying on clothes and having salespeople say "that looks so great on you" instead of "that looks so slimming on you." Living in this new reality was difficult. And I didn't know how to make it easier.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eventually, the fog lifted. Enough time passed and my hormones got back to some semblance of "normal." I weaned myself off of the medication and tried to pick-up the pieces of my life. That period of time did a number on every part of my life from my marriage to my self worth. And I've been walking around with this (literal and metaphorical) heaviness ever since.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A few months ago I decided to try and lose weight. And I never wanted to talk about it here or on social media because I still want to be that body-positive person I was before all this. I want to be that woman saying "Hell yes I'm rocking this dress." I want to be a better role model for my kid and for anyone reading this blog. And I know that talk about dieting and weight loss can be triggering for women who love their bodies as they are and don't want to read about people changing theirs. I get all that so I've been silent on the issue.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And maybe silence was the right choice. Maybe it was a kinder, more feminist, choice. In this moment, before hitting publish, I'm not entirely sure. If this post is making you uncomfortable maybe hop on over to somewhere like<a href="http://www.haescommunity.org/"> HAES (Healthy At Ever Size)</a> for a while.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For those of you still reading, I started to count calories. And I started to lose weight. I was feeling pretty good when <a href="http://shoeme.ca/">Shoeme.ca</a> sent me a message asking if I'd like to test out a pair of shoes from their website. I assume their intention was to pick out a pretty pair of heels but I had my eyes on some new running shoes. I thought maybe I could start running too. And thought maybe I'd be brave enough to blog about all this.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I said yes and I ordered these lovely<a href="http://www.shoeme.ca/products/pace-glove-2-black"> Merrell Women's Pace Glove 2s</a>. And I started a couch-to-5K. I lost 50 pounds.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That was weeks ago but that moment of braveness I had when I agreed to this post has long since left. And I know that when I agreed to write this post I also agreed to post pictures. Of myself. And as I much as I want that to be easy and empowering it mostly feels really scary. And it feels awful to admit that.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wfQ7LckWDgk/U8wedeTc3wI/AAAAAAAAEGE/L_9TOkZS-xo/s1600/7mwm-1-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wfQ7LckWDgk/U8wedeTc3wI/AAAAAAAAEGE/L_9TOkZS-xo/s1600/7mwm-1-18.jpg" height="476" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nVuJVp6Ke3U/U8wef9BBYkI/AAAAAAAAEGQ/XoABoxxp21U/s1600/7mwm-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nVuJVp6Ke3U/U8wef9BBYkI/AAAAAAAAEGQ/XoABoxxp21U/s1600/7mwm-3.jpg" height="476" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The problem with writing a narrative that is authentic is that it's not as neat and tidy as something fabricated. As time passes this isn't just a story about me getting postpartum depression and gaining a bunch of weight and losing a bunch of weight and loving myself. After losing fifty pounds I've since gained some back and am now struggling with that. It's a story about getting postpartum depression and gaining a bunch of weight and losing a bunch of weight and gaining some back and losing more - all the while trying to love myself and sometimes succeeding. It's messy. But it's real. And now it's down on paper. Errr- the internet. And it's out there.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Like me, this story is a work in progress. And I don't mean that my physical body is a work in progress - I mean that the person I want to be is. &nbsp;But at least I'm doing it in some fabulous shoes.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XX5TZRhjnPU/U8wef0jjhzI/AAAAAAAAEGU/gz5aZ8LUQnU/s1600/7mwm-2-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XX5TZRhjnPU/U8wef0jjhzI/AAAAAAAAEGU/gz5aZ8LUQnU/s1600/7mwm-2-3.jpg" height="476" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://shoeme.ca/">Shoeme.ca</a> asked me to pair these shoes with a styled outfit. So, in case you are wondering, both the capri yoga pants and the blue running shirt came from <a href="http://www.smartset.ca/on/demandware.store/Sites-Smartset_CA-Site/default/Home-Page">Smart Set.&nbsp;</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Things you should know about Shoeme.ca:</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- They carry a large selection of popular brands (180 and increasing!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- They offer FREE express shipping anywhere in Canada</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- They offer FREE returns and easy exchanges</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- You can follow them on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ShoeMeCA">Facebook&nbsp;</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/ShoeMeCA">Twitter</a>, <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/shoemeca/">Pinterest</a>, and <a href="http://instagram.com/shoemeca">Instagram</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Things you should know about Merrell Women's Pace Glove 2s:</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- They are really comfortable</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- They are REALLY light weight (I was actually going to capitalize really in the last point but then I changed my mind because I thought it would detract from the seriousness of this point. They shoes weigh practically nothing. It's weird. But awesome).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- They are really breathable and that keeps your feet nice and cool&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">- They are VEGAN</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Want to check out Shoeme.ca for yourself? Use the code JustForYou25 to receive $25 off orders of $100 or more.&nbsp;</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-20302150717435576632014-06-18T13:20:00.000-04:002014-06-18T13:24:43.743-04:00I don't know Ma. I just needed it. Sometimes these tiny people, and their capacity for assessing their own needs, amazes me. I mean, babies, toddlers, and children are generally well known for expressing their wants and needs. They don't worry about being pushy or selfish. They don't sensor themselves so as to appear agreeable. This isn't news to anyone who has ever been in the presence of a small child for even a few moments. But what does seem to surprise me from time to time is how aware they can be of the intricacies of their needs.<br /><div><br /></div><div>This week Mac has been a little "off." If you've ever been a regular care-giver of a toddler you know what I mean by that. He's not sick but he's just a little… different… he's a bit quieter, a bit more whinny, and a bit more clingy.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>So when we are headed to the park and he asks to be carried I am not that surprised. At almost three years old and a little over 30 pounds, carrying him in my arms for a long period of time isn't really feasible. But there is a trusty <a href="https://www.facebook.com/OnyaBaby">Onya Baby carrier</a> in my closet that he agrees to. I snap the buckles around my waist, cherishing the clicking noise that I heard at least one thousand times in the first year of his life when he liked to be worn constantly. I bend down to let him climb on my back and he makes an unhappy face.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div>"I don't want to go on your back Ma. I'm too shy today. I want to go on your belly."&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iqBcPvjpxK4/U6HFRFfkylI/AAAAAAAAEFA/yLD0qzCtcdE/s1600/2014-06-18_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iqBcPvjpxK4/U6HFRFfkylI/AAAAAAAAEFA/yLD0qzCtcdE/s1600/2014-06-18_0001.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Now, if you know my kid you know that he's certainly not shy. But we all have our days don't we? With a swelling heart I scoop my boy up and snap the buckle closed on my shoulders. He's all legs and arms. They hang a bit awkwardly at his sides but in a few moments we've moved our bodies like a puzzle into a configuration that is comfortable for everyone. His head rests against my chest and my nose can't help but bend down and inhale the sweet scent. No longer the intoxicating smell of newborn skin but still the unmistakable smell of my child that will always be my favourite scent.<br /><br />His declaration of not wanting to play at the park today is short lived. Twenty minutes of his heart beating next to his Mama's is all he needs and by the time we arrive at the play structure he is ready to get down and play.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rNcqVolUKC8/U6HFwpK6L5I/AAAAAAAAEFI/2UneF7JlV-c/s1600/photo-5+copy+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rNcqVolUKC8/U6HFwpK6L5I/AAAAAAAAEFI/2UneF7JlV-c/s1600/photo-5+copy+2.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Of course my Mama's heart is happy to see him feeling better. There are some new kids at the park and they have brought seahorse moulds with them. I love watching them sweetly offer Mac a turn with their treasures and seeing his eyes light up when he turns to me and says "the girls shared with me Ma!"&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But a small part of my heart feels heavy as he climbs out of my carrier. I am keenly aware that there are a limited number of "baby wearing" days left in our future. Each time I unclip him could easily be the last. And while watching him grow is such a joy there is still sadness in seeing each phase come to an end.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Minutes turn to hours and it is time to head home for lunch. I assume he will want to sit in the stroller &nbsp;but instead he surprises me by asking to get back in the carrier. This time he's feeling less shy and decides a back carry will suffice.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KOc13pAZnhA/U6HH-fmPeTI/AAAAAAAAEFU/7M8AjUWE-xI/s1600/photo-5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KOc13pAZnhA/U6HH-fmPeTI/AAAAAAAAEFU/7M8AjUWE-xI/s1600/photo-5.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've had a long few weeks and the unexpected treat of holding my babe close to me today feels like medicine for my soul. Later, cuddled on the couch, I ask him why he wanted me to carry him today.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I don't know Ma," he replies thoughtfully. "I just needed it."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me too kiddo. Me too.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-65922776957558326972014-05-12T15:05:00.000-04:002014-05-12T20:43:50.177-04:00On Being the Mom He Knows <span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Hi friends!&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Voting for the&nbsp;<a href="http://www.ottawaweddingawards.ca/voting/">&nbsp;Ottawa Wedding Awards&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;ends TODAY (Monday May 12th). Which means this is the last blog post that will begin with me humbly asking for your vote. If you think that Mondays with Mac Photography deserves to win the category of best photographer please take a moment and vote for us! You don't need sign-up for anything or leave an email address. And you can skip over the other categories if you aren't familiar with the great ottawa vendors.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Thank-you so much!&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RjFjJpm1ggM/U16noCA2EnI/AAAAAAAAECo/gsNbibj28nQ/s1600/ottawa+wedding+photography.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RjFjJpm1ggM/U16noCA2EnI/AAAAAAAAECo/gsNbibj28nQ/s1600/ottawa+wedding+photography.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><br />OK, and now for today's post….<br /><br /><br />At the top of our stairs there are two photos from our wedding. One with our wedding party and one of just Tracy and me.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qgBVEZFJlHg/U3ENueGn18I/AAAAAAAAEDY/tcIKw5pCrHY/s1600/mwm-1-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qgBVEZFJlHg/U3ENueGn18I/AAAAAAAAEDY/tcIKw5pCrHY/s1600/mwm-1-2.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U6p7kuDAJ14/U3ENuPUZgzI/AAAAAAAAEDU/1Y3k4XixfqY/s1600/mwm-1-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U6p7kuDAJ14/U3ENuPUZgzI/AAAAAAAAEDU/1Y3k4XixfqY/s1600/mwm-1-3.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sometimes Tracy likes to look at the photos with Mac and point out the people he knows. But when they get to me he throws a fit.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I don't like Ma like that. I don't like Ma like that."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Because the me on my wedding day looks little the me he sees everyday. My hair was longer (both naturally and thanks to the extensions my hairdresser clipped in for the side-do she created). Also, it has a big feather and rhinestone clip in which is not my usual around the house style. Instead of a t-shirt and pants I am wearing a long white dress. I'm thinner and tanned. And my nails are weirdly long. In that photo I am not the Mama he knows.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I don't like Ma like that. I like Ma like <i>ttthhhhaaattt.</i>" He says while pointing to my current mom look. And although he's said it a bazillion times it finally clicks with me. I like to have my picture taken when I look like I did on my wedding day (you know, when I've spent months prepping for that one day of photos and I'm only about 65% authentic). But Mac thinks I'm much more beautiful when I'm chasing him around the yard in an old t-shirt.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And those are the photos I should be taking. My reluctance to actually be in photos with him these days is robbing him of the memories he'll cherish. He may one day like to look at the photos from his moms' wedding but he won't remember those women. He'll remember us as we are today. And we should really be providing him with more photographic evidence of these days.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So yesterday, at the park without make-up (or chapstick apparently) and in a t-shirt, I asked my wife to take a photo of Mac and me. Which, predictably, went horribly as he had exactly zero interest in sitting still long enough. But we'll keep trying. This summer I will be in more photos with my son. As the mom he remembers. Y'all can hold me accountable.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V1XQW7zGZfU/U3EVv53wjVI/AAAAAAAAEDs/xzoRJHfN3HM/s1600/mwm-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V1XQW7zGZfU/U3EVv53wjVI/AAAAAAAAEDs/xzoRJHfN3HM/s1600/mwm-1.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Happy belated Mother's Day. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-90064308161494983622014-05-05T11:48:00.002-04:002014-05-05T16:03:19.238-04:00Making Memories <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Hello everyone!&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Before we get to today's post would you mind hopping over to the<a href="http://www.ottawaweddingawards.ca/voting/"> Ottawa Wedding Awards </a>website and voting for Mondays with Mac Photography? We are so proud to be nominated and to make it to the final voting round! You can skip the categories that don't apply if you aren't familiar with other other amazing wedding industry folks in our city. Only one vote per device and voting&nbsp;closes on May 28th, 2014. Thank-you so much!&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RjFjJpm1ggM/U16noCA2EnI/AAAAAAAAECo/gsNbibj28nQ/s1600/ottawa+wedding+photography.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RjFjJpm1ggM/U16noCA2EnI/AAAAAAAAECo/gsNbibj28nQ/s1600/ottawa+wedding+photography.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">And now for the blog post</span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">…</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">My earliest memories come sometime after my third birthday. My mom was pregnant with my brother and I remember her big belly. I remember it as only a child can - from the underside. My memories only reach three and a half feet tall. Standing on the green carpet leftover from the seventies, my mother's hand on the bottom of her belly asking me if I wanted a little brother or a little sister. I wanted a sister so badly. And I was young enough to believe that my wanting it would make it so.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Tracy thinks her first memories come some time later. She doesn't think she can remember the time before school started. When it was just her and her mom at home. She remembers feeling homesick at school and trying to hold back tears while&nbsp;</span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">sitting</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">&nbsp;cross-legged on the&nbsp;</span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">carpeted</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">&nbsp;kindergarden floor. So she knows&nbsp;</span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">there</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">&nbsp;must have been happy moments to be missed. But they escape her.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Mac is just two and a half years old. I feel like I have lived a lifetime in those months. The transition from myself to his mama was swift and brutal. It was beautiful and joyous. <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/01/always-grateful-for-sound.html">In one traumatic and miraculous day</a> my new life began and I've done my best to preserve every memory since. Some with cameras and some etched onto the surface of my heart. But it occurs to me that, of this entire life we have lived with our precious son, he will likely not remember any of it.&nbsp;There will be photos and this blog.&nbsp;Some of it he may "remember" in that way that we create memories from keepsakes even though we&nbsp;didn't have the original recollection. But he&nbsp;won't actually remember the kisses and the hugs or the tickles and the laughter.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Still, we try anyway. Mac has&nbsp;developed a love&nbsp;affair with a big purple dinosaur named Barney. There is a movie, that has been played countless times in my house, that is a recording of a Barney&nbsp;performance. I watch that movie with my son and long to give him that experience. To bring him to a show and watch him dance in the aisles, singing the songs he knows by heart at the top of his lungs. But his love affair with Barney has been facilitated through Netflix and old episodes. Did you know that Demi Lovato and Selena Gomez played friends of the big purple dinosaur as children? Me neither. These episodes are old. Barney is now a retired rockstar and google did not reveal a farewell or comeback tour.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Then one day I was flipping through an issue of </span><a href="http://www.parentingtimes.ca/" style="line-height: 18px;">Parenting Times&nbsp;</a><span style="line-height: 18px;">&nbsp;and saw a full page&nbsp;advertisement for &nbsp;a live Barney show in Ottawa. Well, actually, it was an ad for <a href="http://thebabyshows.com/">The Baby Show</a>. But Barney was going to be there on stage. I blacked out the weekend on my schedule and waited for showtimes to be announced. As springtime photo shoots filled my calendar I kept the weekend as free as possible. My kid was going to see Barney!&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">The day arrived and we headed downtown. Slow traffic and blocked roads, the result of a bicycle race, meant that we didn't make the 11 AM show and instead would wait around for the 2 PM show. But we were not deterred. The small town girl in me still feels like she is being kicked in the stomach when she has to pay city parking prices. But what's the cost of a mid-level bottle of wine in comparison to my son&nbsp;seeing Barney!?&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">We got there early. Each taking turns holding our front row seats while the other browsed the Baby Show booths. I made the decision to leave my camera at home this time. With it in my hands I am constantly searching for the right light, the best angle, and sometimes that means that I miss what is right in front of me. I decided I would snap a few quick photos with my phone and let the rest write itself on my heart.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Tracy&nbsp;and I were giddy with anticipation. So much so that tears welled up in my wife's eyes at the excitement of being able to bring her son to his see the purple dino of his dreams. I only found out about this&nbsp;after when she turned to me and said "did you cry a bit before Barney came on?" And when I gave her a quizzical look she said "ya, me either." And then added "don't tell anyone that." Which sounds like "I double dog dare you" to a blogger.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Before long Barney was on stage singing the songs Mac knows by heart. But instead of dancing in the aisle as I had imagined he would he crawled onto my lap and sat&nbsp;stoically. All of my attempts to get him dancing and singing were met with "no Ma." The experience was overwhelming for our boy and he was just taking it all in.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">As the tiny groupies rushed the stage for their moment with Barney we asked Mac if he wanted to get closer. He was unsure. And then the homebody boy after my own heart said "Ma, can we go home and watch Barney on my TV?"</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DihE0ManAUg/U2eyYpYPXBI/AAAAAAAAEC4/gIscnPLjLc8/s1600/ottawa+photographer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DihE0ManAUg/U2eyYpYPXBI/AAAAAAAAEC4/gIscnPLjLc8/s1600/ottawa+photographer.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">It wasn't the heart-exploding moment of sheer joy I had hoped for. And yet this morning, after sleeping on the memory, he woke up excitedly proclaiming "You remember Ma? You remember when Barney touched my head?!?" And, for now, the memory of seeing Barney on stage is a magical one that he will tell everyone about for months to come.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R_QGZmpT4E4/U2eyoqhX1MI/AAAAAAAAEDA/WCucPQG-nI8/s1600/ottawa+baby+photographer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R_QGZmpT4E4/U2eyoqhX1MI/AAAAAAAAEDA/WCucPQG-nI8/s1600/ottawa+baby+photographer.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Although he likely won't remember the day, as the months turn to years, it will live on through my wife and me. And I like to think that even though he won't be able to access the details of these early days in tangible ways they will still exist in some way in his heart. And when he has&nbsp;his own little ones someday he will know what these years were like. He'll access that part of his heart and thank his moms for the memories he can't quite remember. Like I should probably do right now. Thank-you Mom and Dad. &nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /><br />-----------</span></span></span><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Did you skip over that bit at the beginning about voting for us (Mondays with Mac Photography) at over at&nbsp;</span></span></span><a href="http://www.ottawaweddingawards.ca/voting/" style="line-height: 18px;">&nbsp;Ottawa Wedding Awards&nbsp;</a>? If so we would so appreciate your vote! And if you have already voted for us then thank-you so much taking the time - it truly means so much!&nbsp;<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></span>Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-26667606540055536752014-04-28T15:07:00.001-04:002014-04-28T15:20:56.088-04:00Just One Kiss Mama<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Hello everyone!&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Before we get to today's post would you mind hopping over to the<a href="http://www.ottawaweddingawards.ca/voting/"> Ottawa Wedding Awards </a>website and voting for Mondays with Mac Photography? We are so proud to be nominated and to make it to the final voting round! You can skip the categories that don't apply if you aren't familiar with other other amazing wedding industry folks in our city. Only one vote per device and voting&nbsp;closes on May 28th, 2014. Thank-you so much!&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RjFjJpm1ggM/U16noCA2EnI/AAAAAAAAECo/gsNbibj28nQ/s1600/ottawa+wedding+photography.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RjFjJpm1ggM/U16noCA2EnI/AAAAAAAAECo/gsNbibj28nQ/s1600/ottawa+wedding+photography.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">And now for the blog post</span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">…</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">I sink into the corner of the couch. Legs pulled up to my chest. Phone resting on my knee. But the lack of space between my thigh and my torso always makes my son&nbsp;nervous. Nothing else should ever be on my lap but him. And when my lap disappears he wiggles his little arm into the empty space and pushes until there is room for his body.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">"Up please." The&nbsp;squeaky voice of toddlerhood. His many demands are now bookended with please and thank-you.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">Diego is on the TV screen and Facebook is in my hand. Our attention is diverted but we connect as I mindlessly stroke his soft hair. His legs curl until he's a ball of love on my lap. My thumb scrolls past a newsfeed of baby announcements and the gym tales. His body bounces and he pushes his fist in the air "vamanos!"&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Without thinking I rest my head on his and kiss that tender spot that still sometimes smells like baby. Which he is not. Seventeen kisses later he jerks his head away and turns to face me. A tiny crinkle forms between his brows.&nbsp;"Ma, why do you always give me so many hugs and kisses? I like you to stop doing that and just give one. OK?"&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">And so it begins. My baby is putting limits on my mamahood. A one&nbsp;</span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">kiss maximum rule is implemented. And it takes everything in me not to hug and kiss him to infinity and beyond. This is the tragedy of parenthood. Your job is to teach them to grow up and away from you. And it's both joyous and too painful for explanation.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">This tiny human is understanding expectations and setting boundaries. He's negotiating. He's becoming someone. Not just my soft and gushy unformed being but his own person. I'm proud. And terrified.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">The next morning I greet him with "good morning" and&nbsp;before my lips touch his cheek he reminds me. Like a stern elementary&nbsp;school teacher with an important homework reminder. "Just one kiss Ma. Just one."</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">His lips are chapped but he wipes the balm away as quickly as I can apply it. In the car the dryness burns and his&nbsp;squeaky voice makes his discomfort known.</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">"You need stop the car and kiss my owie."<i> </i>He demands. And then remembers, "please." <i>&nbsp;</i>I tell him that we are nearly home and as soon as we get there I will put cream on his lips. But he doesn't want cream. He wants a kiss. And immediately. We go back and forth until finally I remember that I'm not actually in a hurry to get home and pull over into the nearest parking lot. I open his door and give him, just one, kiss firmly on the lips.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">"There. That better</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">," he says. And he means it. To his&nbsp;mind there is still magic in my kiss. The power to fix chapped lips and skinned knees. He believes that my&nbsp;love can heal his minor&nbsp;afflictions and like&nbsp;the&nbsp;velveteen&nbsp;rabbit that belief makes it real.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">And although my kisses are now being limited, I'm relieved to know that, for now, they are still magic. And as he's counting them I'll be sure to make each one count.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-40693518128751537882014-04-22T12:15:00.002-04:002014-04-22T12:15:47.966-04:00Nature's Path Review and Giveaway If you are a regular reader here at Mondays with Mac you know that I'm very selective about the products I review. I get several requests every single day and only a handful of companies make it here each year. I need to feel good about the product I'm reviewing. I need to believe that if I'm recommending you spend a portion of your family's budget on a product it is one I would spend my family's budget on too. The company needs to respect my time and energy as a blogger and needs to value you, my readers, as their ideal customers. This perfect storm doesn't happen frequently. However, <a href="http://ca-en.naturespath.com/">Nature's Path</a> meets and exceeds that criteria.<br /><br />Nature's Path is a family-run company out of Richmond British Columbia. They are a third-party certified organic, non-GMO project verified, vegetarian company with a motto of "leaving the earth better than we found it." And they manage to do all that while creating breakfast foods and snacks that even picky toddlers will eat. Impressed? You probably should be.<br /><br /><br />We received a gift pack of<a href="https://www.facebook.com/envirokidz"> EnviroKidz products </a>and Mac has been eating his way through the cereal and snack bars. His favourite being the <a href="http://ca-en.naturespath.com/product/gorilla-munchr-cereal">Gorilla Munch.&nbsp;</a><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jzsjosLAQFI/U1Zjo2cpysI/AAAAAAAAEBs/8EEJsccxNTQ/s1600/mwm-1-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jzsjosLAQFI/U1Zjo2cpysI/AAAAAAAAEBs/8EEJsccxNTQ/s1600/mwm-1-7.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QIGZs2PYFYc/U1ZkJSW-76I/AAAAAAAAEB0/UvgemAb_2AM/s1600/mwm-1-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QIGZs2PYFYc/U1ZkJSW-76I/AAAAAAAAEB0/UvgemAb_2AM/s1600/mwm-1-5.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />When you buy an EnviroKidz product, 1% of the sale goes to support endangered species, habitat conservation, and environmental education for kids. So far they have raised 1.6 million dollars! Each box focuses on a specific animal. The back and inside of the box offer trivia about the animal, tips for protecting endangered species, as well as fun word and drawing games.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dd_AkscRGCc/U1ZmT5hjGgI/AAAAAAAAECI/hdEURqlbp4g/s1600/mwm-1-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dd_AkscRGCc/U1ZmT5hjGgI/AAAAAAAAECI/hdEURqlbp4g/s1600/mwm-1-2.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div><br />The EnviroKidz line offers a lot of great breakfast and snack options for families but Nature's Path also offers a tonne of products for the whole family with something to satisfy every specialized diet (vegan, gluten free, low sodium, reduced sugar, whole grain, and wheat free). My gluten free friend says that the <a href="http://ca-en.naturespath.com/product/pumpkin-spice-waffle">Pumpkin Spice Waffles</a> are the best frozen waffle she's ever bought (including non gluten free products).<br /><br />I would also encourage you to hop on over to their <a href="http://ca-en.naturespath.com/">website</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/naturespath">Facebook page</a>, and<a href="https://twitter.com/NaturesPath"> Twitter page</a> for more information on their products as well as environmental and health issues more broadly. If you have a question about one of their products don't be afraid to ask on their regularly updated social media sites. Have a look around and you will see that they really are a large company with an international reach who operates like a small family shop. Your questions will be heard and responded to quickly!<br /><br />Interested in trying some of these products? Help us celebrate Earth Day by entering the giveaway below for your own gift pack!<br /><br /><br /><a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/6688bd21/" id="rc-6688bd21" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="//widget.rafflecopter.com/load.js"></script><br /><br /><i>Disclosure: As the owner of this blog I may be compensated to provide my opinion on products and services. Although I may receive compensation, it will in no way affect my opinion or review. You will always read 100% truthful reviews on this site.&nbsp;</i>Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-85701994457223805132014-04-14T17:01:00.005-04:002014-04-14T22:28:34.720-04:00Making Babies the Lesbian Way. And why it might be good for your STRAIGHT marriage. First things first, I should be very clear that lesbians (and trans men) get pregnant in a variety of ways. They might have sex with cisgender men or use anonymous/known donor sperm via a sperm donor clinic. They might use fertility treatments, including but not limited to, IVF. And that's not even touching on the options of surrogacy, and adoption, and children created in prior relationships. Others, like me, use a known donor to donate fresh sperm and do at home inseminations. But "Making Babies (one of the) Lesbian Way(s)" is sort of a weird title for a blog post.<br /><br />So, anyway, where am I going with this? I have a friend. I'm going to call her Khaleesi because I just read that <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/newsblogs/yourcommunity/2014/04/there-are-now-more-babies-named-khaleesi-than-betsy-or-nadine-in-the-us.html">there are now more babies named Khaleesi than Betsy or Nadine in the U.S.</a>&nbsp;and that totally blows my mind. But that's not her real name. She doesn't want her sex life broadcasted on the internet. <i>I know, weird right? </i>I mean, my <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/04/turning-my-reproductive-organs-into.html">wife doesn't want that either</a>, but I can't really give her the same pseudonym treatment as Khaleesi without confusing everyone. Sorry Tracy.<br /><br />So, a little while ago, Khaleesi sends me a message asking for specific details regarding our <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2013/02/sperm-that-he-didnt-put-there-prequel.html">artichoke jar inseminations.&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;This throws me off guard as I know that she is happily married to a cisgender man. But sometimes people send me messages asking for information for their sister, coworker, hairdresser's cousin's BFF, etc. So I give her my standard reply with a few specifics and point her to&nbsp;<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1555839401/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&amp;camp=1789&amp;creative=9325&amp;creativeASIN=1555839401&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;tag=mondwithmac-20">The New Essential Guide to Lesbian Conception, Pregnancy, and Birth</a>**<img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=mondwithmac-20&amp;l=as2&amp;o=1&amp;a=1555839401" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />&nbsp;which was basically my bible during my trying to conceive process.<br /><br />A few days later she sends me a long response thanking me for the information and tells me that she and her husband have been trying to get pregnant, without success, for 10 months now. They have two more months to try to conceive "naturally" before their doctor will give them a referral to a fertility clinic. And in the meantime their marriage is really suffering. Sex has become a chore and they are both frustrated, grumpy, and on edge. Khaleesi is taking her temperature each morning in an attempt to predict her most fertile period. This is called charting your basal body temperature and it's awesome for seeing patterns overtime to predict when one is going to ovulate (in addition to identifying some cycle issues that may be impairing fertility). But, in general, it tells you when you have ovulated rather than when you are about to ovulate so there is still some guess work to be done.** And Khaleesi and Dothraki&nbsp;(also not his name but, hey, I figured I'd grab another Game of Thrones word and google gave me that one) are sick of the guessing game. Dothraki is really frustrated with the scheduled sex-on-demand that their attempts at baby-making are producing. And both of them were longing for the days when sex was spontaneous and fun.<br /><br />To make matters worse, their work schedules don't line-up. She often gets home from work when he is sleeping and sometimes he needs to leave for work before she is awake. So, not only are they having sex that neither of them is enjoying, at least one of them is missing precious sleep to do it.<br /><br />Enter - making babies the lesbian way. After my detailed explanation of how to insert "donated" sperm Khaleesi and Dothraki now have a system in place that is working much better for both of them. &nbsp;During their fertile window Duthraki gently nudges Khaleesi awake and hands her a jar of fresh sperm and then heads out to work. She inseminates herself and then falls easily back to sleep.<br /><br />"This is seriously life changing." She admitted to me recently. "We do this really wacky thing now where we have sex WHEN WE FEEL LIKE IT and it feels like so much pressure has been lifted off of our shoulders. There's no more fake moaning to try and speed him up so that I can get back to sleep before I'm totally awake. Lesbians have the best ideas. God, make sure you change my name if you blog about this."<br /><br />Of course, I am not saying that using this method of insemination is going to increase a straight couple's chances of getting pregnant. But if you are frustrated with your current attempts, and open to trying something new, this might help to take a bit of the pressure off. The general understanding is that inseminations done with fresh donor sperm are about as likely to result in pregnancy as heterosexual intercourse.<br /><br /><b>Curious about how to do it yourself? </b>Keep reading.<br /><br /><b>What you will need (other then your bodies).</b><br />- a jar, bowl, or something with a lid to catch the sperm<br />- a needle-less syringe (most jokes about lesbian conception involve a turkey baster but a needle-less syringe is actually easier to use). The best size to use is 3-cc or 5-cc.<br /><br /><b>What to do:</b><br />Make sure the jar you are using is clean and dry. Encourage your partner to take his time producing the sperm. The more turned on he is the greater the volume of ejaculation will be. Decide how you want to do the hand-off. Is it less awkward if he leaves it on the counter for you? There's no right or wrong way as long as the sperm stays warm. Some people also think that sperm can be a bit sensitive to air and light so tell him to put the lid on the jar and dim the lights when he is done. When we did our inseminations Tracy took the jar of sperm from Andy and then kept it warm in her sports bra until we were ready to inseminate.<br /><br />I haven't been able to find a definitive amount of time that fresh sperm is "good" for. In <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1555839401/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&amp;camp=1789&amp;creative=9325&amp;creativeASIN=1555839401&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;tag=mondwithmac-20">The New Essential Guide to Lesbian Conception, Pregnancy, and Birth</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=mondwithmac-20&amp;l=as2&amp;o=1&amp;a=1555839401" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />&nbsp;Stephanie Brill suggests one hour (p.288) but other sources have said thirty minutes, ninety minutes, and even up to 24 hours. I am no expert so I can't give solid answer. <br /><br />Make sure the cap is off your syringe, that there is no needle in it, and that you have pushed all the air out. Put the tip of the syringe in the sperm and pull the plunger part back (there's probably a word for that part of a syringe - I'm sure someone will chime in) so that the sperm is pulled up into body of the syringe. Lie on your back and insert the syringe deep inside your vagina. Slowly push the plunger part so that the sperm enters your vagina. When you are done, slowly pull the syringe out. Doing this slowly will help the sperm to not fall out. At this point you would do all the things that you would regularly do after intercourse. Some women like to lie with their hips up for twenty minutes. Others like to spend a few minutes on their back, stomach, and each side to help the sperm move around and find the cervix.<br /><br />And that, my friends, is it. I want to be very clear that I am not a doctor, midwife, or in any way trained on matters of fertility whatsoever. So please don't take anything you read here as definitive. There are links to a few REALLY GOOD books below. Read those and talk to your own health care providers!<br /><br />Good Luck!<br /><br /><br /><br />__________________________<br />If you are interested in the books or products mentioned in this post please click on the links below. They are affiliate links which means that should you make a purchase I will receive a small fee.<br /><br />**<br /><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&amp;Operation=GetAdHtml&amp;ID=OneJS&amp;OneJS=1&amp;source=ac&amp;ref=qf_sp_asin_til&amp;ad_type=product_link&amp;tracking_id=mondwithmac-20&amp;marketplace=amazon&amp;region=US&amp;placement=1555839401&amp;asins=1555839401&amp;show_border=true&amp;link_opens_in_new_window=true&amp;MarketPlace=US" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe><br /><br />***<br />If you are a longtime reader you may remember that <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/04/turning-my-reproductive-organs-into.html">when I was trying to get pregnant I used the Ovacue Fertility Monitor.</a> This little gadget does a pretty awesome job of actually predicting your fertile period.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.shareasale.com/r.cfm?b=544028&amp;u=617916&amp;m=16745&amp;urllink=&amp;afftrack=" target="_blank"><img alt="OvaCue Fertility Monitor" border="0" src="http://www.shareasale.com/image/16745/OvaCue300x250gif.gif" /></a><br /><br />If you are looking for a good book on how to chart cycles and understand fertility this is the standard recommendation.<br /><br /><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&amp;Operation=GetAdHtml&amp;ID=OneJS&amp;OneJS=1&amp;source=ac&amp;ref=qf_sp_asin_til&amp;ad_type=product_link&amp;tracking_id=mondwithmac-20&amp;marketplace=amazon&amp;region=US&amp;placement=0060881909&amp;asins=0060881909&amp;show_border=true&amp;link_opens_in_new_window=true&amp;MarketPlace=US" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-36333546687208259422014-04-02T10:36:00.000-04:002014-04-22T12:08:57.997-04:00JORD Watches: Review and Giveaway <br /><br /><br />You will notice that this blog isn't heavy on reviews. &nbsp;But even though I don't actually host a lot of reviews I do get a lot of emails asking me to review products. Ninety-nine percent of the time I don't. And that's because if I am going to show you something it has to A) be very cool and B) I have to jive with the company.<br /><br />Enter: <a href="http://www.woodwatches.com/">JORD Watches</a>.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YC3bYHOLTQw/Uztw-ii750I/AAAAAAAAEA8/B8NQpPXxmbM/s1600/mwm-1-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YC3bYHOLTQw/Uztw-ii750I/AAAAAAAAEA8/B8NQpPXxmbM/s1600/mwm-1-5.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />JORD watches are made from different woods from all over the world including bamboo, maple, sandalwood, blackwood, cherry, and teak. The glass is made from scratch-proof blue film glass. The best part is that each one is hand-crafted from natural materials making each one truly unique.<br /><br />To clean your JORD Watch you mix two tablespoons of olive oil and lemon juice and apply the mixture to a cotton cloth and then to the watch. Jord watches are splash proof, meaning they will withstand some water being splashed from a kitchen sink, but they are not designed to be submerged in water.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GOOFsEeFVOg/Uzt0jl_o_KI/AAAAAAAAEBM/Bayr2Az2LXU/s1600/mwm-1-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GOOFsEeFVOg/Uzt0jl_o_KI/AAAAAAAAEBM/Bayr2Az2LXU/s1600/mwm-1-3.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The watch in this post is the<a href="http://www.woodwatches.com/series/fieldcrest#8"> Fieldcrest Series in natural green model.&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;It is unisex and comes in three design options at the affordable price of $120 USD.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>And hey, do you want one too? Excellent - enter below for your chance to win!&nbsp;</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When you get your unique Jord Watch don't forget to post a photo on Twitter or Instagram with the hashtag <a href="http://www.woodwatches.com/hashtag">#JORDWatch</a> for a chance to win cool monthly prizes!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FVQ4k011evw/Uzt16hI9i3I/AAAAAAAAEBU/4yk0i4S82Ac/s1600/mwm-1-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FVQ4k011evw/Uzt16hI9i3I/AAAAAAAAEBU/4yk0i4S82Ac/s1600/mwm-1-4.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><br /><a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/6688bd20/" id="rc-6688bd20" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script><br /><br /><i>Disclosure: As the owner of this blog I may be compensated to provide my opinion on products and services. Although I may receive compensation, it will in no way affect my opinion or review. You will always read 100% truthful reviews on this site.&nbsp;</i><br /><br /><br /><br /><script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script> <a href="http://www.woodwatches.com/" id="woodwatches_com_widget" target="_blank" title="Wood Watches by JORD"></a><script src="//www.woodwatches.com/widget/mondayswithmac" type="text/javascript"></script>Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-90621185068105323522014-03-31T22:22:00.000-04:002014-03-31T22:25:53.427-04:00Always a Privilege <br />I wasn't sure what to write about today. It's the first day of April and we are finally getting some &nbsp;nearly-spring-like weather. It's still cold. I mean, if Mac's American dad was visiting he'd be in long johns and a parka. But, relatively speaking, it was quite warm today. And that's good because at this point winter is a houseguest who has long overstayed her welcome. There is a Disney movie that is popular this winter called Frozen. About a girl who turns her kingdom into eternal winter. And in a strange case of life imitating art it has felt like our city was transplanted to that magical kingdom.<br /><br />My eyes no longer see the beauty in freshly fallen snow. We've long since passed the sweetness of tiny bodies bundled in puffy snowsuits. We are firmly in that part of winter where boots never seem to be dry and we each own six mittens that have lost their mates. Somehow over these cold winter months my son has transitioned from a baby to a boy. Magic beans and fairytales. His legs, like beanstalks, grow towards the sun. And his snow pants fit like capris. But winter is almost, almost, almost over and there's no point in buying new winter gear that may not fit next season.<br /><br />And my lack of patience for mother nature and her unwelcome shenanigans have been creeping over to Mac. Because he's tired of his Mama's tiredness but he's too new to really understand seasons and I'm not sure he gets that there will ever come a day without snow again anyway.<br /><br />So in my winter-weary state I decide to read some old blog posts to see if one will spark an idea for a new post. And I start at the beginning. When everything was new. The springtime of parenting. My little baby born in trauma and his <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/01/always-grateful-for-sound.html">magical voice that reached into my chest and pulled out my heart</a>. The <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/05/slow-and-fast-good-and-better.html">marvel of baby legs that fold into bodies not yet aware of the vastness of space on the outside</a>. And the humbling reality that this ridiculous knock-you-on-your-ass love that I feel for this tiny human is <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2011/10/cravings.html">a feeling shared by two people towards me</a>.<br /><br />And that's when it hits me that the cold and the snow and the infinity of toddler snot and winter illnesses have tricked me into glossing over what an immense privilege this whole parenting gig is. With spring eyes I look to that boy who not too long ago fit neatly in my belly. I smell his head. It smells more like peanut butter than newborn but it is just as sweet. I brush my fingers against his soft cheeks and I whisper secrets in his ear. I tell him that of all the blessings I've had in this life, and there are many, being his Mama is the very best one. Because even in the last days of a long winter, when his snow pants are wet and dirty and too short, and there are no matching mittens, and there is kleenex in every pocket, loving this little human is still always, always, such a privilege.Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-23424389087241125182014-03-17T16:23:00.001-04:002014-03-17T16:23:18.409-04:00I love you too. I told my wife I loved her very early into our relationship. Even by lesbian standards. It was summer and we had plans to meet friends. She was still in that place where she didn't fully believe that she could be loved. Completely. For exactly who she was. She was trying to push me away - picking a fight - testing me. And I just blurted it out. <i>What are you doing right now? Don't you know that I love you? </i>The pupils of her eyes got so wide that I could see myself reflected in their shiny black surface.<br /><i><br /></i><i>Do you know what you just said? </i>She asked accusingly, assuming I would take the words back as quickly as I had said them.<br /><i><br /></i><i>I know exactly what I said. I love you.&nbsp;</i><br /><i><br /></i>And I did. Wholly and completely. Nobody had ever made me laugh the way she did. And my heart had never fluttered at that speed before. It was lust and love and everything in between. She became the &nbsp;best part of my world. And in the years that followed I said I love you more times than I could count.<br /><br />Lately, <i>I love you</i> comes a little less frequently. And not because it's not felt but because of the<br />busy, busy, busy. <i>Did you give Mac his puffer? </i>Yes. Did you pack an extra set of clothes? <i>Yes. Did you feed the dog? </i>And so it goes. While we seem to exchange a substantial quantity of words with each other, the quality is lacking.<br /><br />But if you pay close enough attention to the little hidden meanings that creep up from time to time you can still see those unabashed, screaming it from the roof tops, I LOVE YOUs poking through amongst the grocery list conferring and the vast and varied list of toddler needs.<br /><br />On the weekend I was out of town attending a bachelorette to celebrate the total awesome-ness of my oldest friend as she prepares to marry to her best friend. And Tracy was home alone with Mac.<br /><br />On day two she texted me 4 simple words that filled my heart with warmth:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MCWbvBCMLNM/UydWCYqPllI/AAAAAAAAEAk/AvTa3lL-Qhg/s1600/blogtext.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MCWbvBCMLNM/UydWCYqPllI/AAAAAAAAEAk/AvTa3lL-Qhg/s1600/blogtext.png" height="320" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was, <i>you're a good mom, I appreciate what you do</i>, and <i>I love you </i>all wrapped up in one. And while a lot of things have changed since that first time I blurted out I LOVE YOU, there is one thing that really hasn't: I love her too.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">________________________________________</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm a very lucky woman! And today we are all lucky because Mabel's Labels is offering <a href="http://www.shareasale.com/r.cfm?B=583210&amp;U=617916&amp;M=40173&amp;urllink=">50% off Shamrock Sticky Labels</a>. Use the coupon code MABELLUCK to get 50% off of your purchase of Shamrock Sticky Labels. Plus receive free shipping on all orders!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.shareasale.com/r.cfm?b=467105&amp;u=617916&amp;m=40173&amp;urllink=&amp;afftrack=" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://www.shareasale.com/image/40173/LECC_affiliateAds_Mar2013_4.gif" height="200" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="background-color: white; color: #5a5a5a; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: left;">FTC Disclosure Statement: This post contains affiliate links and I will be compensated if you make a purchase after clicking on my links.</i></div><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-12325034666524561502014-03-11T08:33:00.002-04:002014-03-17T16:24:11.136-04:00Four Ways to Entertain a Toddler While Lying DownI remember back in my pre-parent days when parents would complain about the onslaught of colds and flus and general virus-y ickiness that accompanied the winter months and I would listen to them with a modicum of sympathy but I remained relatively uninterested. Because here's the thing about the common cold - when it happens to somebody else it seems like totally no big deal. I mean, it has the word common right there in the title. But when it happens to you it's basically like Armageddon and it rivals tragedies happening in far off countries.<br /><br />But every year you get one, and every year you get through it relatively unscathed. But what they don't really tell you about parenting a child who is either in daycare or school, is that the months between November and March are basically just one giant germ infestation. Or, rather, parents totally do tell you but you just don't really believe them because when somebody says they've been sick with one thing or another for 4 months straight that seems like total bullshit. Except - IT'S TOTALLY NOT.<br /><br />So here we are, in March, and we've all been sick for months to varying degrees of horribleness. But the absolute worst of it was a recent stomach flu. I also remember, back in my pre-parent days, a friend who called her mom (who lived in a different city) to come and stay with her while she had a stomach flu. "Well I can't take care of him (her 2 year old) while I'm throwing up," she said. And I remember thinking that was sort of weird. <i>I mean, he's two, how hard could that be? Can't you just put him in front of the TV for the day? </i>Oh silly pre-parent me!<br /><br />Last week Mac had a stomach flu. And then, just as he recovered, Tracy and I got it at the same time which meant that we had to take turns lying in the living room pretending to take care of Mac while the other person got to sleep in bed. And quite frankly that was pretty horrible and I wished I could call my mom to come over.<br /><br />But necessity is the mother of invention, so, here are my <b>four ways to entertain a toddler while lying down.</b><br /><br /><b>1. Dead Man's Twister</b><br /><b><br /></b>This one requires a sheet of stickers. But if you have a toddler you have a sheet of stickers somewhere. Basically you lie on your stomach or back on the floor or couch and occasionally call out things like "red sticker on mom/dad's knee" and "puppy sticker on mom/dad's back." Then the kid follows the instructions and covers you with stickers.<br /><b><br /></b><b>2. Hungry, Hungry Laundry Basket</b><br /><b><br /></b>You lie on the couch or floor next to a laundry basket and say things like "laundry basket is hungry for something red" and "laundry basket is hungry from something square." Your kid then scours the rooms he can access to collect those things. Make sure you are playing in only childproofed areas.<br /><b><br /></b><b>3. City on my Back</b><br /><b><br /></b>You've probably seen one of those <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/204069426839414537/">t-shirts on Pinterest&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;with roads and buildings on the back. The person wearing the shirt lies on his/her stomach and kids can use dinky cars to drive along the routes. On Pinterest these shirts and colourful, the roads and buildings are drawn well, and they are very clearly Pinterest-worthy. But toddlers have much lower standards. Just take any old t-shirt and throw some duct tape on the back. Take a marker and draw some centre lines on the "roads" and you are good to go.<br /><b><br /></b><b>4. Stuffy Hide and Seek&nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b>Tell your toddler to go down the hall, cover his eyes, and count to ten. From your lying down position take your kid's favourite stuffed animal and throw it across the room somewhere. When your kid is done counting s/he can come back and find the stuffed animal. And repeat.<br /><br />I hope that helps if you are struck down with a stomach virus while home with a healthy and energetic toddler. And hang in there parent friends - cold and flu season is almost over!<br /><br /><br /><b>Psssttt… Pin it! You know you want to!&nbsp;</b><br /><a data-pin-config="none" data-pin-do="buttonPin" data-pin-height="28" href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.mondayswithmac.com%2F2014%2F03%2Fentertainingtoddlerswhilesick.html&amp;media=http%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-URs2AzoPnMc%2FUx7_Omo8d3I%2FAAAAAAAAEAU%2FwDB2UaS5iXU%2Fs1600%2Ffour%2Bways%2Bto%2Bentertain%2Ba%2Btoddler%2Bwhile%2Blying%2Bdown.jpg&amp;description=Next%20stop%3A%20Pinterest"><img src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/pidgets/pinit_fg_en_rect_gray_28.png" /></a><!-- Please call pinit.js only once per page --><script async="" src="//assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js" type="text/javascript"></script><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-URs2AzoPnMc/Ux7_Omo8d3I/AAAAAAAAEAU/wDB2UaS5iXU/s1600/four+ways+to+entertain+a+toddler+while+lying+down.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-URs2AzoPnMc/Ux7_Omo8d3I/AAAAAAAAEAU/wDB2UaS5iXU/s1600/four+ways+to+entertain+a+toddler+while+lying+down.jpg" height="183" width="400" /></a></div><b><br /></b><b><br /></b><b><br /></b><br /><div style="text-align: center;">_______________________________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Looking for super cute clothes for your kid's this spring?</div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;Check out Gymboree's selection of clothes at 50% off.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><a href="http://www.shareasale.com/r.cfm?b=507712&amp;u=617916&amp;m=46239&amp;urllink=&amp;afftrack=" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://www.shareasale.com/image/46239/728x90.gif" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><i style="background-color: white; color: #5a5a5a; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">FTC Disclosure Statement: This post contains affiliate links and I will be compensated if you make a purchase after clicking on my links.</i><br /><br /><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-69138425647229620332014-03-03T15:30:00.000-05:002014-03-03T15:30:49.475-05:00Keeping it Real. Blogging and the Truth. "Your post last week was&nbsp;<i>reeeeally </i>beautiful," my friend confides over coffee. Her emphasis on the E in really conveys the seriousness of her confession. "I was just so... real."<br /><br />I thank her for the compliment and listen as she talks about the struggles in her marriage. We are confidants now. Our coffee turns cold and we add more from the pot to keep our mugs warm. We are alone in the house but our voices are soft as we confess the secrets of our marriages. Of course only her words are secrets. Mine are published on the internet for anyone to read.<br /><br />But what sticks with me is her description of last week's post as real. The word rattles around in my head as we talk about fighting, making-up, frustration, and love. I wonder if perhaps what she means by real is vulnerable. <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2014/02/the-only-time.html">Last week I wrote about our choice to stop at one child.</a> We made that choice because postpartum depression was a nightmare. It nearly killed me and my marriage. And those are two things I'm not willing to risk. <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2013/01/an-ottawa-staycation-two-wives-re.html">It's not the first time I've mentioned how PPD has changed my marriage.</a>&nbsp;My wife and I, <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/07/sometimes-love-is-tolerating-each.html">neither of us are perfect</a>. But we are doing our best. In the world of Facebook and Twitter where our lives and our families are presented as a series of carefully screened photographs and 140 character summaries of our thoughts we can sometimes forget that we don't always see the full picture. So when somebody tells that part of the story - the less shiny part - it can make us uncomfortable. Or it can make us relate.<i> Really? Your marriage isn't perfect? Mine either! We should form a club! </i>Except that we forget that we are already in that club. And it's called humanity. None of us are perfect people. We try and we succeed. We try and we fail. We love and we fight. And sometimes we just plain fuck it all up.<br /><br />But reality is complicated. It's filled with moments that are both perfect and entirely not perfect. But it's important to remember that the good and the bad are equally real. When I write about <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/09/the-unraveling.html">postpartum depression</a>, or struggles in my marriage, those posts are entirely real. But when I write about <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/01/always-grateful-for-sound.html">the humble gratitude I felt for my son's cries when he got his first tooth</a>, or <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/05/slow-and-fast-good-and-better.html">the wonder of a baby who curls her legs into her body because she doesn't yet understand the vastness of post-womb space</a>, or <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2013/12/my-dad.html">the joy of watching my son understand that his dad is actually <i>his dad</i></a>, those things really happened too. They are pretty and shiny and testements to the happy moments of parenthood and family life. They are real.<br /><br />And I think that's why you are here reading this with me. We are here to commiserate on the bad parts and revel in the good parts. And none of our lives exist entirely in either end of that spectrum. But believing that they do exist only in the negative or should exist only in the positive is where we screw ourselves over. It's not a competition. This whole parenthood thing. You don't have to find it rewarding and exhilarating every moment of the day. None of us do. Even those of us who blog about the moments of pure perfection on a weekly basis. But don't forget to notice those moments in time that take your breath away either. The sweet smell of a newborn's head, <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2014/01/dancing-up-close-on-twos-being-both.html">holding your toddler close for a slow dance</a>, the warm feel of your partner's hand on your shoulder when you think you are out of strength for the day. Those are all real too.<br /><br />I can't invite you all over for coffee. But you can pour a cup where you are and we can chat nonetheless. So, what you are your real stories?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-51367648785328575812014-02-24T09:52:00.000-05:002014-02-24T11:47:25.833-05:00If You Give a Toddler a Steroid<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/If-You-Give-Mouse-Cookie/dp/0060245867/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;qid=1393253050&amp;sr=8-1&amp;keywords=if+you+give+a+mouse+a+cookie">[If You Give a Mouse a Cookie by Laura J. Numeroff</a>]<br /><br />If you give a toddler a steroid he'll want some juice to go with it.<br />So you'll give him some apple juice.<br />But the apple juice won't be in a purple cup.<br />And toddlers always want apple juice in a purple cup.<br />So you'll pour the apple juice from the blue cup into the purple cup.<br />But the purple cup won't have a straw.<br />So you'll go to the cupboard to get a straw.<br />And the toddler will remember that apple juice comes from apples and apples are high up on trees so he will climb on the counter to pretend to pick an apple and spill the apple juice all over the floor.<br /><br />So you will get a mop and a bucket.<br />And the water in the bucket will look like the perfect tub for a teddybear.<br />So the toddler will plunge the teddybear into the bucket.<br />And you will tell the toddler to take the bear out of the bucket.<br />Which will make the toddler run around the house with a wet, soapy, bear.<br /><br />Since the bear is already wet you will ask the toddler if he wants to have a real bath.<br />And he will chant "TUB TUB TUB" until he wakes up the neighbours.<br />So you will call the neighbours to apologize while pouring a bath.<br />But the toddler will scream that the bath is too cold. And too hot. And too cold.<br />And then he will remember that tubs require sitting and sitting is not running and he will insist on getting out <i>immediately</i>.<br /><br />You will be so tired that you will call <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/03/or-at-least-auntie-tata.html">super aunt</a> for backup.<br />And she will bring stickers.<br />The toddler will want to put<i> all</i> the stickers on <i>all</i> the furniture.<br />And you will let him.<br />Because it means you can sit on the couch for 76 seconds.<br /><br />The stickers will remind the toddler of crafts and he will ask for scissors and glue.<br />So you will spread the craft drop cloth on the floor and get supplies.<br />But while you are trying to figure out how to turn newspaper and pipe cleaners into something entertaining, the toddler will run in circles around and around and around throwing pieces of paper in the air and yelling CONFETTI! CONFETTI!<br /><br />You will remember the tip on Pinterest about pushing pipe cleaners through the holes in a colander.<br />The toddler will sit to examine what you are doing.<br />But the pipe cleaners will look like spaghetti and spaghetti will remind him of playing chef and he will shake the colander while screaming "I'M COOKING! I'M COOKING!"<br /><br />His head will shake back and forth and you will remember Jesse Spano singing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bflYjF90t7c">"I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so, so … scared."</a><br />And you will be scared too. But you will also laugh. And you will try to take a picture of the chaos.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MTCE9Aw7E-s/UwtZnJV2YHI/AAAAAAAAEAA/q-6FNMSTXtk/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MTCE9Aw7E-s/UwtZnJV2YHI/AAAAAAAAEAA/q-6FNMSTXtk/s1600/photo-2.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><br />Pretending to cook spaghetti will remind the toddler that he's hungry.<br />So you will open the fridge.<br />And the toddler will crawl inside.<br />He will want pickles.<br />Not pickles, cheese.<br />Not cheese, donuts.<br />Not donuts, cookies.<br /><br />And with the fridge open you will notice the half empty (half full) bottle of wine.<br />And you will drink it.<br />Because when you give a toddler a steroid it is like - well - giving a toddler a steroid.<br />So you should also give his parents more wine.<br /><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-39348121384910656052014-02-10T11:58:00.001-05:002014-04-11T12:21:02.140-04:00OneIt took three attempts to make our Mac. Three awkward airport pick-ups of Mac's dad. "How was security?" I would ask him and he would laugh. Officials start to become a bit suspicious when you cross borders, leaving the city that never sleeps to come to the city that's never warm every 28 days. There's no declaring sperm at the border.<br /><br />I rushed through the unease of it all. Rushing to catch that egg. Wanting so badly for the next part to start. But still, if I had known I'd only do it once I might have savoured it more. I might have taken a moment in the middle of that social discomfort to remember how it all was. What it means to meet a stranger and make him family. To relish in the excitement of what was to come.<br /><br />Three attempts. Twelve artichoke jars of sperm. And eighteen pregnancy tests. Until the one. The one where the second line emerged. Strong and beautiful. And I knew there was a baby in me. Well, there were cells that would one day, with luck and magic, transform into a baby. Our baby.<br /><br />And I walked around my city. Proud like a peacock. A secret growing inside me and it took everything in me not to tell every detail to the woman cutting my hair and the man selling me carrots. The happiness of those moments shone like moonlight. Illuminating our blessings. And yet paling in comparison to the brightness of the sun and what was to come. The round belly. The birth. The baby. But still, if I had known - if I had known it would be the last time I peed on a stick and cried with gratitude I might have held that stick a little longer. I always thought there would be a next time.<br /><br />Nine months of throwing up. In public and in private. On the side of the road and in a garbage can in the middle of the shopping mall. Nine months of people offering me crackers like I was part parrot. That's what I think of when I remember being pregnant. The damn crackers. The memories of curling up in a rocking chair so that my legs wrapped around my belly and rubbing the bundle of countless possible dreams yet to be lived are harder to hold onto. They slip through my fingers even as I write them down. A permanent record can still be forgotten. Next time, maybe I won't be so sick I thought to myself. But if I had it to do again I'd know what it's like to love like your heart could explode. And that would be enough to get me through it.<br /><br />Twenty-something hours of pain so unimaginable to me I shudder when I remember it. His tiny bum crushing my sciatic nerve like an elephant on a peanut shell sending waves of excruciation through my leg and out my toes. Contractions four minutes a part lasting a minute. We should have been much farther along. But instead we stayed at 4 centimetres for an eternity.<br /><br />I clung to the plan I had for his birth. Laminated pages of ideas already tattooed on my heart. I stared straight ahead at the robot onesie hanging on the wall. I imagined his little body turning the cotton fabric from 2D art to 3D perfection. But he had other plans. And so did the doctors and nurses. I negotiated with them like a child resisting bedtime. <i>Just one more hour. Please. Just let me do this on my own for one more hour. Just leave me in this tub with&nbsp;this jet positioned right here where it can penetrate my flesh and apply pressure right to that nerve doling out pain every four minutes.&nbsp;</i><br /><i><br /></i>And then his heart rate was dropping and there was no more waiting. There was a vacuum and a team of people ready to take his grey body from me. I didn't get to put him on my chest. I didn't get to let the rest of the world disappear. <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/01/always-grateful-for-sound.html">I just waited an eternity until he cried.</a> And on that first night as I stayed wide awake from the adrenaline rush I imagined all the things I would do differently next time.<br /><br />Nine months of bliss. He needed constant bouncing and rocking and breastfeeding. He cried a lot and needed a lot. But I loved it. I loved the smell of him. So distinct I'm fairly sure you could blindfold me and put me in a room of babies and I would sniff out mine like a drug trained hound. In those moments I thought I would get to do it again. That it wouldn't be the last three month birthday celebration I toasted.<br /><br />Six months of Hell. And another six months of aftershock. Postpartum depression was the worst experience of my life. I woke up one day underwater. Unable to move. Unable to decide. On anything. The simple choice of breakfast would leave me in tears. So unaccustomed to these feelings I turned to medication expecting it to make me happy. But instead it just numbed me. And so I kept upping and upping the dosage until there was no where left to go but down. And with each new milligram I became more and more numb. Fifty pounds gained in the span of six months. <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2012/01/marriage-things-i-hope-for-my-son.html">One perfect marriage</a> nearly destroyed.<a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2013/01/an-ottawa-staycation-two-wives-re.html"> We work hard to patch those cracks</a>. But the scars remain. We plaster and paint but the weak spots have been identified. They won't withstand another tidal wave. <br /><br />And I know I can only survive that once.<br /><br />One baby. One perfect baby. One amazing child. One love of our lives to hold our hearts in his hands and do with what he chooses. There will only be one child in this house. And while it's not how I always imagined it to be, I know how blessed I am.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-77641529353441261202014-02-03T16:32:00.000-05:002014-02-03T17:04:27.116-05:00Mothering Full CircleHe's two and a half. He has most of his teeth by now. Maybe all of them. I'm not sure because I haven't ventured to put my fingers in his mouth to count. He's biting. A lot. Mostly me. I try to follow his reasoning - is he mad? bored? excited? frustrated? He's all of those things. Often simultaneously. Two year olds have a lot of feelings.<br /><br />I envision myself to be the mom who stops everything to have a genuine chat about what's causing the biting. We will get to the bottom of it. No yelling. No crying. We'll hug it out and laugh about it. But, well, you know - toddlers. Lots of people are giving me lots of good advice. Some of it is working.<br /><br />But what do I really need? What I really need is a break. A real one. Not for five minutes and not for an hour. But for several days in a row. And that's the thing with parenting isn't it? <i>The hardest job in the world. The most important job in the world. </i>But if it's a job where are the vacation days? Everyone needs a vacation now and then don't they?<br /><br />And that's probably why grandparents were invented. Those wondrous people who have been there. Who get it. And who aren't too exhausted running after their own children to run after yours. &nbsp;So I pack up the boy and head "home" to the place that really isn't home anymore but always sorta will be. He's thrilled of course. Bobo and Ba's house would rival Disney World in his eyes. If he knew what Disney World was.<br /><br />My parents have probably the world's best couch for lounging. You really shouldn't ever sit on it if you have any plans for the rest of the day. As deep as a single bed it seduces naps from even the most ardent non-napper. My body sinks into its embrace and before long I'm curled on my side and a blanket mysteriously appears to cover me from head to toe. In the distance I hear my son yell "Again Ba! Again!" My father, the one with arthritis in his knees, is running around the room with a green table cloth fastened at his neck as a make-shift cape. <i>Dun-dun-da-da! </i>Mac squeals with delight. I roll over.<br /><br />I wake from my nap to the smell of Mom's potato leek soup simmering on the stove. Mac is in the kitchen by her side. His little body is up at her level thanks to the aid of a kitchen chair under his feet. He's "helping." Which, I know, means he's slowing down the whole process. But I don't think she minds. I pretend to keep sleeping.<br /><br />Three days pass and I've had my fill of soup. A whole double batch mostly on my own. The soup and the couch and the mothering. They've all done their work on my soul and I'm renewed. I hold my boy on my lap and stroke his hair. I drink in his scent and kiss his cheek. A few days of being mothered and I'm ready to mother again.<br /><br />We linger for a moment at the door as we say our goodbyes - my mother and me. I'm about to thank her for all that she's done when she beats me to the punch.<br /><br />"Thank-you for coming." Her eyes are wet and she reaches out for a hug. "It's been so nice having you here to mother." Funny how things come full circle. I know there will be a day in the future when I'll yearn so badly for an opportunity to mother my grown son instead of yearning for an opportunity to take a break from it.<br /><br />I laugh a little. "Thank<i>-you</i>," I reply. "I really needed this." And she smiles. Because she knows. She's been there too.Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-23508543719516121442014-01-20T14:31:00.002-05:002014-01-20T14:58:50.700-05:00Craving Home: Part 2 Just over 2 years ago I wrote my very first blog post. Were you reading then? If &nbsp;you aren't my mother than you probably weren't. You should go check it out<a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2011/10/cravings.html"> HERE</a>.<br /><br />Don't worry, I'll wait.<br /><br /><br />All done? Excellent. In case you didn't click over, in that post I wrote about what it was like to bring my new babe home. Not to my home but to my parents' home. To the hometown I grew up in. I wrote about what it was like, as a parent, to realize that your own parents love you as much as you love your kid. That's a pretty humbling and overwhelming experience.<br /><br />In the two years of blogging that have come since I've tried to, more consciously and not always successfully, frame my experiences as my own more clearly. Because it's important to remember that not all kids are fortunate enough to grow-up with parents, or with parents who love them in that unconditional, overwhelming, parent-y kind of way. And, because of post partum depression or other factors, some parents may struggle to feel that kind of emotion. But, the truth remains that in that moment those feelings were my experience. And I will never forget that trip.<br /><br />Two years and a few months later and I am prepping to make that same trip. This time with a toddler. A toddler who <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2014/01/dancing-up-close-on-twos-being-both.html">sometimes dances sweetly with me in the afternoon. </a>But is equally as apt to bite me for no reason at all. A toddler who is <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2014/01/if-i-could-take-my-heart-out-and-show.html">my whole heart</a> and yet also the reason for my exhaustion. He is, hands down, the most amazing part of my life.<br /><br />And yet.<br /><br />I just need a damn break. Not for an hour or two (I'm grateful to be parenting with a partner and although we have a lot going on these days we are both careful to give the other breaks). But for several days in a row. Because toddlers are really, really, tiring. And they just never stop moving. Have you ever watched that Toddlers and Tiaras show where they give the kid an overdose of sugar to get her all bouncy? That makes about zero sense to me right now. Because toddlers are bouncing balls of uncontainable energy in their natural state. Why anyone would try to increase that is beyond me.<br /><br />Anyway. I'm heading home again. And this time I'll also be thinking about how amazing it is to have people out there who love me as much as I love Mac.<br /><br />And I'm so grateful for that because it means that they will take me in and let me sleep for three days in a row and run around with Mac until they are ready to sleep for three days in a row to recover.<br /><br />Shout out to all the parents of multiples, to those of you with several toddlers at once, and to the rest of us who have one toddler who feels like many. I hope you have grandparents in your life who love you that much too.<br /><br /><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-59885497478220087592014-01-13T14:35:00.000-05:002014-01-13T14:35:57.375-05:00If I could take my heart out and show it to you<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If I could take my heart out of my chest and put it on display it would look like a train table in the middle of my living room. It would look like tears melted away with kisses and a soft hand on a rising and falling chest at 2 AM <i>just to make sure</i>. It would look like slow dances with legs koala-ed around my waist and silly dancing that lives up to the phrase "dance like nobody is watching."&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But my heart and I, we have a long history together. It loved fiercely for three decades on this earth - parents and friends, exes, my wife. It felt loss and heartbreak, joy and abandon. It existed in a world without Mac. And that's one of the weirdest parts about parenthood. The realization that there were moments in time, important ones, in which part of you had yet to exist.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And I don't mean that in the "what did we do before kids?" kind of way. We did plenty of things before kids. Our hearts were full and sometimes empty. We had relationships. And we continue to nourish those and build new ones. We are whole people outside of our children. But there's this really strange moment that comes when you realize that you've only known your child for one minute, or one day, or one year, or one decade, and yet it's hard to fathom a world in which he doesn't exist.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Or maybe he did. Maybe I always knew him. Maybe long before growing him in my belly he was growing in my heart. And long before meeting me, my wife was growing him in her heart, and his father was as well. Maybe he was just waiting for the exact right moment to come into our world and make it complete.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is the tangled part of parenthood that nobody can explain to you. The shifting of timelines into wavy paths and roundabout circles. The lack of distinction of life before and life after because hearts don't follow sensibly marked routes.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">&nbsp;Parenting this child has made me love in ways I never imagined possible. It has turned my world upside down and back again. But there is one thing I know for sure - if I could take my heart out of my chest and put it on display for you to see, it would look like this:&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X_OGSIoobb4/UtQ2feQC_MI/AAAAAAAAD_k/8YO2SrlV7ko/s1600/Ottawa+Photographer-1-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X_OGSIoobb4/UtQ2feQC_MI/AAAAAAAAD_k/8YO2SrlV7ko/s640/Ottawa+Photographer-1-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-35508554026602498742014-01-13T09:29:00.001-05:002014-01-13T09:31:19.782-05:00Would $500 help you celebrate the New Year? <h2 style="text-align: center;"></h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OPS9keyvw3g/UtP34te5zlI/AAAAAAAAD_A/lbaJoDw_nQ0/s1600/QxA7NnAsrgycFGZrYQZUg9TgK7Sg2DUzf0QbsbTsYdE.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OPS9keyvw3g/UtP34te5zlI/AAAAAAAAD_A/lbaJoDw_nQ0/s1600/QxA7NnAsrgycFGZrYQZUg9TgK7Sg2DUzf0QbsbTsYdE.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Looking to start your new year off on the right foot? How would $500 Paypal cash help? Grab a cup of coffee and dig into the Rafflecopter giveaway below. It's a big one and it will be a bit of a bitch to get through. But free money is totally worth it right?&nbsp;</div><h2 style="text-align: center;"><br /></h2><div style="text-align: center;">Complete the tasks below to earn entries into this giveaway.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Refer your friends using your unique link to earn even more chances to win.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Open Worldwide.</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Ends at 11:59pm EST on January 26th, 2014.</em></div><a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ae31c0169/" id="rc-ae31c0169" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script><br /><div style="text-align: center;">This giveaway was coordinated by <a href="http://www.giveawaypromote.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Giveaway Promote</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-33525693992579320492014-01-07T14:22:00.001-05:002014-01-07T14:22:43.822-05:00Dancing Up Close: On twos being both terrible and terrificIt wasn't a good day. Two O'clock in the afternoon and the 1.5 hours between that moment and my wife's triumphant return from work felt like an eternity spreading out before me.<br /><br />Before parenthood I imagined that I'd never bemoan the "terrible twos." After all, I had wanted this baby with every molecule of my being. I had hoped, and prayed, and dreamed, and by some miracle beyond my comprehension grew him into flesh and bones reality. I would never be one of those parents who complained. That would be like grumbling over the weight of my wallet when stuffed with too much money. No, I would experience the "terrific twos" and treasure each moment of perfection.<br /><br />But that November day was not terrific. Stuck inside for days on end in the middle of a cold snap, we made a brief attempt at an outdoor adventure but our breath seemed to freeze in the air before us. The snow stayed frozen in the clouds. And we returned indoors. Forts made from fitted sheets over kitchen chairs were boring. Baking was so last week. My living room was scattered with crafts that somewhat (not really) resembled their beautiful Pinterested inspirations. And his cheeks were the perfect shade of crimson. That colour that experienced parents could pick out from a mile away.<br /><br />"Two year molars?" My neighbour had asked. My son's eyes and red cheeks the only thing visible under his winter layers.<br />Sigh. "Yes." She gave me a knowing half-smile and an affirmative shake of her head. No more words needed.<br /><br />The ratio of whine to wine in my day was entirely off-balance and I was just.plain.done. I turned on Barney and closed my eyes. I was hoping I could play dead long enough for him to sit still and let the digital babysitter take a turn at parenting.<br /><br />Restless, he continued to move around the room. Grabbing, climbing, whining. Oh the whining. And then his little hands rested on the Apple TV remote. In a moment of perfect chance he managed to turn off the purple dinosaur and turn on my iTunes library on the laptop across the room.<br /><br />My friend <a href="http://www.preetam.ca/">Preetam Sengupta's</a> words filled the air. <i>Let's go dancing.</i>&nbsp;And my whinny, red-cheeked, son turned to me and said "dance up close Ma?"<br /><br />[Press play. Music begins at 1:53]<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/X__wL61MNCk" width="560"></iframe> <br /><br />And so I picked him up. He was no longer my little baby who once spent hours upon hours in my arms as I danced around the room to ease the crying. But the additional weight of his toddler-sized body felt like air in that moment. And we danced. We swayed. His two year old hands fumbled with my hair. And unable to bite back the tears I let them fall on his shoulders.<br /><br />"No cry Ma." His eyebrows registered some mix of confusion and concern. The concept of happy tears was beyond his grasp. So I smiled and reassured him that I was happy. And he wiped my tears away with the sleeve of his shirt.<br /><br />His attention span fell short of the three and a half minute song and he was wiggling to get down with a minute to spare. But it was enough. It was enough time for me to be reminded of the full force of my love for this tiny, sometimes incredibly annoying, human. And it was more than enough to get me through the final hour and a half of solo parenting before my wife returned home.<br /><br />And with that short not-quite-three-minutes of terrific the previous nine hours of terrible had been completely balanced.<br /><br />And that's what two is, terrific and terrible, in harmony.<br /><br /><br /><br />[You can purchase Preetam Sengupta's album <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/hopefull/id551204874">Hopefull on iTunes</a> or visit him <a href="http://www.preetam.ca/">online</a>.]<br /><br /><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-73519380446102420262013-12-16T19:41:00.001-05:002013-12-17T18:36:34.726-05:00"My Dad"This new acquisition of language is the coolest thing to watch. The nouns are the easy part. He learned them quickly and only needs to hear a new person, place, or thing once before it is committed to memory. The verbs and the adjectives are following quickly behind. &nbsp;It's not the kind of thing you teach, really. You just talk and hope that some of it sinks in but you never really know when it will. Until it has. And that's such a cool moment.<br /><br />Mac lives in Ottawa with my wife and me but his dad lives in New York City. At two and half years old he has seen his Dad a dozen times or so. For the last year he has understood Dad as a noun. That guy who comes to visit every few months, the one with the scruffy face and the phone filled with videos of cats and horses on demand, his name is Dad. And to my toddler he's a pretty stellar guy. His visits produce donuts. And he lies on the floor to play. He looks for opportunities to wear matching outfits and Ma (that's me) takes a lot of photos when he's around.<br /><br />It's early on Saturday morning and Mac is perched on his knees at the kitchen table. My wife and I, bleary-eyed, are curled into the couch drinking luke warm coffee. Andy is at the table with Mac, alternating between bites of fruit and crackers and moving trains and horses back and forth.<br /><br />Andy holds Mac's attention with the proficiency of a six foot tall purple dinosaur. My wife and I take those moments to let our son's other parent do the parenting. My head rests on her shoulder as the boys chatter across the room.<br /><br />Unaccustomed to our cold Canadian winters, Andy excuses himself from toddler play and heads to his room for a sweatshirt. Mac looks up from what he's doing and scans the room.<br /><br />"Where my dad go Ma?" His squeaky little voice registers genuine concern.<br /><br />"What did you say Mac?"<br /><br />"Where my dad go?"<br /><br />"Is that <i>your dad</i>&nbsp;Mac?"<br /><br />He smiles a proud smile. He's figured out the possessive pronoun. That guy in the other room, the one with the scruffy face and the phone filled with videos of cats and horses on demand, he is not just any old dad, he is Mac's Dad.<br /><br />Just two little letters that fall out of his mouth but they imply so much more.<br /><br /><i>My </i>dad.<br /><br />And he is.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8fLc8xCq6vw/Uq-dj_uZ1hI/AAAAAAAAD-s/EOroe1GuXk8/s1600/mwm-1-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8fLc8xCq6vw/Uq-dj_uZ1hI/AAAAAAAAD-s/EOroe1GuXk8/s640/mwm-1-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-80812764027600246352013-12-02T12:51:00.000-05:002013-12-02T12:51:02.067-05:00Sometimes the more things change the more they stay the same. There was a time, not that long ago, when I would stumble into the kitchen, groggy, after too much time spent awake in the wee hours of the morning. There would be dirty glasses in the sink and a corkscrew on the counter with the last cork of the night still pierced through its centre.<br /><br />It would explain the headache. And the weary eyes.<br /><br />This morning I had a strange deja vu of those mornings when I stumbled into the kitchen. I guess my wife couldn't open the Children's Tylenol bottle at some point in the middle of the night. It explained the headache. And the weary eyes.<br /><br />Sometimes the more things change the more they stay the same.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woyWZLARS3Y/UpzIJLdCFFI/AAAAAAAAD-c/_L9eMdgjxzA/s1600/mwm-1-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woyWZLARS3Y/UpzIJLdCFFI/AAAAAAAAD-c/_L9eMdgjxzA/s640/mwm-1-8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-23279193142473709712013-11-25T12:27:00.002-05:002013-11-25T12:27:49.470-05:00I'll be back… Really Soon… I Promise Hi Friends,<br /><br />I just wanted to take a quick moment to thank-you for sticking around despite the lack of substantial blog posts over the last few weeks.<br /><br />We've been incredibly blessed to take on so many wonderful photography clients this fall. And now we're working, working, working to get all of the packages edited and out in time for the holidays.<br /><br />But I haven't forgotten you. Give me another few weeks and I'll be back with all sorts of Mac stories for your entertainment. I've been saving them up!<br /><br />In the meantime - did you see <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2013/11/lifestyle-family-photo-sessions-half.html">the deal we posted last week? </a>This is, by far, the biggest sale we had in 2013 and will be the biggest sale with have in 2014. Finish up your holiday shopping right now! It's only available for a limited time so don't miss out!<br /><br />KristinMondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-43545172996700889022013-11-22T11:18:00.000-05:002014-01-07T13:00:23.462-05:00Lifestyle Family Photo Sessions HALF OFF!! (Limited Time Offer)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.mondayswithmacphotography.com/"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rgWlgbc9Zw8/Uo98tS00i7I/AAAAAAAAD-I/QQbJb6-T8gI/s400/Gift+Certificates.jpg" height="227" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br />Just in time for Black Friday sales and holiday shopping <a href="http://www.mondayswithmacphotography.com/">Mondays with Mac Photography</a> is announcing our biggest family photo sale of the year! <b>Lifestyle Family Photo Sessions HALF OFF for only $100!</b><br /><br />Let us come to your home and photograph your family in their natural element! We will do a combination of posed and candid photos. We will capture your family doing what they love to do (baking? playing games? cuddling on the couch? The options are endless!) <b>And you will get a disc with 50 fully edited images with full print release (sessions can be booked after the holidays but must take place between January 15th and March 30th 2014).&nbsp;</b><br /><br />Why take photos at home? When you are comfortable in your surroundings you can be:<br /><br />Silly<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cz-SpzMYsz0/Uo9496c91RI/AAAAAAAAD8o/oogu5Qz39k0/s1600/Ottawa+family+photographer-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cz-SpzMYsz0/Uo9496c91RI/AAAAAAAAD8o/oogu5Qz39k0/s640/Ottawa+family+photographer-9.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4LqcgjKynfc/Uo95OdPQOXI/AAAAAAAAD8w/SnQHEuLHgDU/s1600/Ottawa+family+photographer-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4LqcgjKynfc/Uo95OdPQOXI/AAAAAAAAD8w/SnQHEuLHgDU/s640/Ottawa+family+photographer-23.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><br />Affectionate<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XybvLigc6M8/Uo96rPKcZzI/AAAAAAAAD9U/znmpkow3igI/s1600/MWM_5404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XybvLigc6M8/Uo96rPKcZzI/AAAAAAAAD9U/znmpkow3igI/s640/MWM_5404.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IREiA6kc-_4/Uo96sTcrCxI/AAAAAAAAD9c/q0_U8Kk0XCE/s1600/C&amp;S-35+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IREiA6kc-_4/Uo96sTcrCxI/AAAAAAAAD9c/q0_U8Kk0XCE/s640/C&amp;S-35+copy.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And exactly who you are.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CU9SNUfe5Z0/Uo966uRe7LI/AAAAAAAAD9k/zpflMec_nNU/s1600/MWM_5669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CU9SNUfe5Z0/Uo966uRe7LI/AAAAAAAAD9k/zpflMec_nNU/s640/MWM_5669.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And whether indoors or outdoors we will still get posed shots of your smiling faces.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dB0AdXGrd8I/Uo97J38ynRI/AAAAAAAAD9s/-rJoOIbbcSo/s1600/Ottawa+family+photographer-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dB0AdXGrd8I/Uo97J38ynRI/AAAAAAAAD9s/-rJoOIbbcSo/s640/Ottawa+family+photographer-6.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PCt7PKIVMFU/Uo97QLg5UWI/AAAAAAAAD90/hpW8agxHmCg/s1600/Ottawa+family+photographer-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PCt7PKIVMFU/Uo97QLg5UWI/AAAAAAAAD90/hpW8agxHmCg/s640/Ottawa+family+photographer-20.jpg" height="512" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And your furry family members are welcome too!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dHdKIQeD1uo/Uo978c9qQTI/AAAAAAAAD-A/0D9aNKpRlKk/s1600/Ottawa+family+photographer-26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dHdKIQeD1uo/Uo978c9qQTI/AAAAAAAAD-A/0D9aNKpRlKk/s640/Ottawa+family+photographer-26.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Click the buy now button below to buy your gift certificate! You will receive an email with a printable gift certificate within 48 hours of purchase.<br /><br />*Sessions must be booked between January 15th and March 31st 2014.<br />*Must be located within the city of Ottawa-Gatineau (includes Kanata, Orlean's, Barrhaven, etc.)<br />*Maximum of 6 people (if your immediate family is larger than 6 please message me to discuss)<br /><br />Have questions? You can message me at kristin@mondayswithmac.com for more information.<br /><br /><b>Update! Thank-you so much for your interest! Unfortunately these gift certificates are sold out! However, you are welcome to book one of these special shoots at the regular (and still very reasonable) price of $200.&nbsp;</b><br /><br /><form action="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr" method="post" target="_top"><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="https://www.paypalobjects.com/en_US/i/scr/pixel.gif" width="1" /></form><div><br /></div>Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-46871412044910958962013-11-04T11:08:00.000-05:002013-11-04T11:30:21.523-05:00An Ode to Cailey It was eight years ago. It was winter. We, my friends and I, all in our early twenties, were heading to the liquor store to stock up for the night's festivities. Two and a half years post undergrad and we were ready to party like it was 2001. Because damn we partied like rockstars in 2001. We all lined up, bottles in hand, except for my best friend Dharma (not her real name but a nickname that has stuck). She just stood there. Strangely out of place.<br /><br />"Aren't you getting something?" I asked her, a confused look on my face.<br /><br />"No, I, um, have, um, something at home." This didn't surprise me much. She was always smart with her pennies.<br /><br />"But, we aren't going to your place?" I realized that we were in the other end of town by this point with no plans of heading her way.<br /><br />"Ya, I... you know what? I think I'm just going to drive tonight."<br /><br />And that's when I knew. She was many wonderful things, my wonderful friend, but voluntarily a designated driver she was not. She was pregnant.<br /><br />In the liquor store I screamed. And shed a few tears. She was the first of us to make that leap and I could not have been more excited. Her husband, then boyfriend, slid up beside us, full of smiles.<br /><br />"So when are you moving back?" he asked me. I was living two hours away at the time and had always joked that I would move back as soon as they had a baby. And true to my word I was back in Ottawa before her arrival that summer. Which may have also had much to do with my falling in love with my future wife who also happened to live here. But who's to say which was the bigger draw.<br /><br />I loved her before she was born. The product of two of my very favourite people in the entire world. Even when she was a baby and wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. I learned to avert my eyes from her because I knew that eye contact would make her scream. I played hard to get and ignored her. &nbsp;A little later I began to arrive with chapstick in my pocket. Never above bribing a toddler.<br /><br />And when I got my first DSLR camera she was in front of my lens the next day. In full auto mode without any knowledge of what I was doing. She was always my most willing subject.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KzRANHcs1ns/UnfAjQSJRDI/AAAAAAAAD68/98Gx6mHnUf0/s1600/37349_405753660891_19902_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KzRANHcs1ns/UnfAjQSJRDI/AAAAAAAAD68/98Gx6mHnUf0/s640/37349_405753660891_19902_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I read in a book once that learning photography is like learning a language. The easiest way to learn a language is to fall in love with a native speaker. &nbsp;Similarly, those who are in love with their subjects are more motivated to learn photography. This is why so many moms pick up a camera after the arrival of their precious bundles. I didn't have children when the photography bug bit me but I had Cailey.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And now, here she is, a tall, lanky, sweet, funny, smart, and sassy person in her own right. She can make you laugh like her father. She can hold her ground like her mother (which is euphemistic for the girl is mad stubborn). And she's one hundred other things that are uniquely her.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I didn't really need any more reasons to love her. But now that my own son is here, and turning into his own little person, watching her play with him, whether out of pity or boredom or motherly instinct, has done the job. And my son's complete and total adoration of "NeeNee" is a sight to behold.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DfoFryzNCkk/UnfDdEA-BTI/AAAAAAAAD7Y/_XZyZ3nL6UU/s1600/mwm-1-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DfoFryzNCkk/UnfDdEA-BTI/AAAAAAAAD7Y/_XZyZ3nL6UU/s640/mwm-1-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uo_4jradmVY/UnfDpUKaqZI/AAAAAAAAD7g/qAgjrDbv4gQ/s1600/mwm-1-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uo_4jradmVY/UnfDpUKaqZI/AAAAAAAAD7g/qAgjrDbv4gQ/s640/mwm-1-12.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJj0n_LQhPo/UnfFTnKe5bI/AAAAAAAAD78/rT2vtSvJVGc/s1600/mwm-1-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJj0n_LQhPo/UnfFTnKe5bI/AAAAAAAAD78/rT2vtSvJVGc/s640/mwm-1-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XGBzJI264bU/UnfErIC77MI/AAAAAAAAD7o/ysHqvp99j5E/s1600/mwm-1-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XGBzJI264bU/UnfErIC77MI/AAAAAAAAD7o/ysHqvp99j5E/s640/mwm-1-15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you were to ask Mac how much he loves his big cousin (by love rather than by blood) he would probably tell you THIS MUCH.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eV8pHzAoFh8/UnfFHoGQJ_I/AAAAAAAAD70/F1bXi7fTOjI/s1600/mwm-1-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eV8pHzAoFh8/UnfFHoGQJ_I/AAAAAAAAD70/F1bXi7fTOjI/s640/mwm-1-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Which is precisely how much I love her too.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><br />Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877884172955011909.post-40066613702198449052013-10-30T13:17:00.001-04:002013-10-30T13:17:25.607-04:00Paige Johnson: A Quick UpdateThere wasn't a blog this Monday but I have a pretty good excuse. I was in Syracuse meeting Paige Johnson and her mother Jackie. Two women with whom I have created a sincere and enduring friendship with over the last several months.&nbsp;<div><br /></div><div>If you are a long time reader you may remember my earlier post on Paige. She was arrested for engaging in a consensual relationship with a girl on her cheerleading team. At the time Paige was 18 and the younger girl was 14. You can read the whole story <a href="http://www.mondayswithmac.com/2013/06/telling-paige-johnsons-story.html">HERE.&nbsp;</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Paige is now out of prison and on probation. But her story is far from over. I look forward to sharing more of it with you when the time is right. But for now, here are some photos of a strong young woman and her forever devoted mother.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JL6taXLsB_U/UnE-RVeGWbI/AAAAAAAAD6g/hrpSeRO0FOU/s1600/mwm-7-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JL6taXLsB_U/UnE-RVeGWbI/AAAAAAAAD6g/hrpSeRO0FOU/s640/mwm-7-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8OuTeBHbYTI/UnE-RBNXuTI/AAAAAAAAD6c/xOlIA69WMV0/s1600/mwm-7-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8OuTeBHbYTI/UnE-RBNXuTI/AAAAAAAAD6c/xOlIA69WMV0/s640/mwm-7-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S7M7BmIyjYE/UnE-RjzqVhI/AAAAAAAAD6s/fPzmSklE5NI/s1600/mwm-7-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S7M7BmIyjYE/UnE-RjzqVhI/AAAAAAAAD6s/fPzmSklE5NI/s640/mwm-7-5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div>If you are interested in supporting Jackie and Paige please send me an email at kristin@mondayswithmac.com and I will happily put you in touch with them.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you are a media outlet that would like to pick up their story please also message me for additional information and photos.&nbsp;</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Mondays with Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11543209952985228477noreply@blogger.com0